


A Game of Faces

by LogosMinusPity



Category: League of Legends
Genre: BDSM, F/F, Manipulation, Mind Games, Noxian Psychology, Poison, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:45:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogosMinusPity/pseuds/LogosMinusPity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Power is power, but despite Boram Darkwill’s obsession with strength, the power that is Noxus comes in many forms, some more subtle and hidden than others. Cassiopeia Du Couteau may not hold a blade like her sister or brother, but that is because she wields a very different kind of strength--and for the first time in her life, she meets someone who can seem to appreciate that...someone who wields a very similar kind of strength, and offers a challenge she cannot resist</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Faces

**Author's Note:**

> *Note that this takes place in the canon universe, while Boram Darkwill is still in power.

Not all weapons in Noxus were forged from blood and steel.

Another Noxian gala, another occasion for Cassiopeia Du Couteau to dig her proverbial claws into a new target.

Sometimes it was almost sad how little of a challenge her marks proved to be. Katarina and Talon both spoke with their daggers, but the greatness that was the Empire could be neither forged nor sustained from raw strength alone.

That principle, however, was one all too few seemed willing to acknowledge. Instead, she was sneered at for being weak, unfit for positions of “true” strength...Cassiopeia had long since taught herself to mute what such naysayers preached (even when they were her own siblings); she played to her own strengths, just as father had encouraged her to, honing her into just as much of a weapon as her sister was. Simply a different sort.

A weapon that gorged out information rather than blood, drew out secrets from unsuspecting lips in moments of pleasure rather than pain. With as much precision and skill as drawing steel against flesh.

And just as the soldier shone in the backdrop of a battlefield, so too did Cass need a setting to for her own art.

And what a setting she had learned to craft. General Du Couteau had long since learned that the extravagant expenses his younger daughter called for were well worth the price of the information that he sent her searching for.

Everything was exquisitely set up; the foods perfectly cooked and fresh, the wine from vintage bottles, the serving staff exactly as professional and practiced as expected. Even the current Noxian fashion couldn’t be faulted—the sleek and form fitting Targonian-inspired robes that were the current craze of high society were a welcome step up from the layers and layers of dresses that had been the same craze this time last year. Cassiopeia could have shuddered at the memory. It was like wearing several curtain drapes over you.

Indeed, the only person Cassiopeia could even begin to complain about in the whole party was the usual. Her sister. But Katarina _had_ just returned from an assassination assignment this afternoon, so Cass would let it go this time, she supposed. At least Kat was wearing clean and oiled new leathers, even if she did insist on glaring at the whole of the room from the wall she was leaning against.

But then, of course it stood to reason that everything else besides the most dour of the Du Couteaus stood to shining perfection this night.

This was Cass’s ball, after all, thrown with her father’s very specific intention of letting Cass have her chance at extracting information from the visiting Shuriman dignitaries. But both of her targets, husband and wife alike, had proven far easier marks than expected, and Cass had finished submitting the last of her report to father just yesterday morning.

Which left Cass free to explore the ball to her own leisure and entertainment.

Hardly a bad thing, though it did leave her with a certain...itch to play.

She made her way toward the table of drinks and hors d'oeuvres, scanning the room beneath her kohl-painted lashes.

Keiran was present, in his full military regalia, glass of wine in hand as he and father spoke easily to one another. No doubt discussing trivial affairs if they did so in the open light of a gala. Keiran always attracted enough attention, what with how he was the primary Darkwill actually visible to the public eye. Cass pursed her lips at the thought that briefly fluttered through her mind. Whatever the reasons for the Grand General’s paranoid reclusiveness in the past decade, it was something that father would not take kindly to her investigating, as peculiar as it was.

Her eyes slipped over across the other guests.

Jericho Swain. What an interesting case he was. A cripple, and by all means a physical embodiment of everything that the typical Noxian did _not_ want to end up as. And yet Cassiopeia knew better than many that the oddly charismatic young general was being kept in the capital for a reason, rather than being given free reign to actually lead troops in their ongoing Ionia campaign.

Ambition, after all, could be dangerous.

And besides that, Cass had no interest in interacting with him at all unless necessary. He was hardly any _fun_.

The two brothers had arrived as well, Darius and Draven. Darius looked just as dour and out of place as Katarina, and Draven looked like a peacock. The usual. If there were ever a man in Noxus more into theatrics…

Cass was tempted so go up to him—Draven was nothing if not an _experience_ for the night—but ah, but there was the Marquis of the Ironwall just helping himself to some of the finger foods. Rumor had it that he was being considered to lead a contingent north toward the Valoran Steppes. Whisperers of a barbarian “extermination” campaign. It had been well over a year since thelast time she worked her trade on the Marquis. Perhaps it was time to see for her own entertainment if he had grown any smarter.

Doubtful, considering his love of liquor at such events.

“Marquis, what a pleasure to see you in such good health!”

Her robes were cut deliberately low, showcasing the pale swoop of her breasts, which she pushed out ever so slightly more even as she looked up at the Marquis from under her eyelashes. Impossible to miss how his eyes darted below her face, dilated ever so slightly.

Too easy.

Cassiopeia curtsied just so. Just enough to let her skirts spread elegantly, and to dip her bosom down to draw his eyes to it yet again.

Men were so easy. At least women sometimes provided more of a challenge.

“It’s been too long, Marquis. Too long.”

“I-indeed!” He stuttered, but quickly took her offered hand to kiss it. “You appear to be in good health, Lady Du Couteau. You are responsible for organizing the ball tonight, I heard? It is a fantastic job.”

Appearing demure was half of the key to drawing this man interest. She allowed herself to appear flattered. As if any of her balls she had organized had ever been anything less than perfect. Please. “Ah...Marquis. You do me too much honor.”

He chortled, drew in close and risked resting one gloved hand on the small of her back. “Hardly! The decor...the food...the wine…”

His own wine sloshed messily in his glass as he raised it. Indeed, it seemed his love of liquor remained unaffected. Too easy. She didn’t bother to remove his presumptuous hand at her back. Instead, she reached out and curled her fingers around the stem of his wine glass, making certain to just barely brush his fingers as she did so.

“Be a dear, Marquis, and let me have a sip of your wine. I’m afraid I haven’t actually tried this barrel myself yet , and was...curious.”

He surrendered his glass without any resistance, removing his stray hand from her as he watched. “Ah, but of course!”

All the while his gaze was pinned to her, pining and hungry, as she pressed his glass to her lips. For those who did not think that so simple an action as drinking wine could be suggestive, they had never seen Cassiopeia do so when a clear target was in her mind.

The glass was returned slowly, fingers lingering even longer this time.

Perfect.

“Cassiopeia Du Couteau, if I am not mistaken?”

And suddenly the seductive spell Cass had been carefully weaving was shattered. The Marquis straightened his back, and though the physical space between them remained the same step apart, the metaphorical gap had now widened too far to be crossed.

Cassiopeia turned, teeth bared in a perfunctory smile toward whatever hussy had the gall to interrupt her.

It was no one she had seen before.

About her height, shoulder length, black hair that gleamed blue in the lamp light. Pale skin that looked as though it could rival Cassiopeia’s for softness. There was something off about the way the woman spoke. Almost deliberate and aggressive. Was this some spurned lover?

There was little time to ponder, however. The Marquis’ eyes had already widened, and he bowed stiffly to Cass, as if suddenly recalling something far away. “Always a pleasure, Miss Du Couteau. A good night to you.”

And then he was walking away before Cass could even say anything to string him back.

She rounded on the newcomer, seething anger already moving into her veins. Unlike her more notoriously hot-headed sister, though, she maintained all the appearances of cordiality even as she internally seethed.

Since when did _anyone_ in Noxus dare to interrupt her like this? Particularly at her own ball.

If this woman did not understand the respect the Du Couteau name commanded, then Cassiopeia would see to it that she learned.

“I’m _afraid_ that we haven’t—”

“You play them like instruments before your tune...men and women alike, wrapping them around your fingers, drawing out their secrets, beckoning so sweetly but hiding the venom all the while...until it’s far, far too late for your prey.” The woman stared after the Marquis before turning back to Cassiopeia, something almost wistful now sparkling in her amber eyes.

Cass kept her leisurely smile plastered to her face, but let her eyes narrow. Just who was this woman, who spoke of her so easily? Certainly Cassiopeia knew of her own growing reputation amongst the elite. The general’s ‘little spy’, or ‘snake’, or even terms far more uncouth, yet none were ever dared uttered in front of her face, at the Du Couteau’s own ball. And yet how this woman spoke...it was not in the dismissive, disinterested way that Katarina or Talon would adopt—or even father at times. No, this stranger spoke in the measured and sure and _knowing_ tones of a similar...practitioner. This was a woman who knew what it took to do all the very things that she described of Cass.

Yet just who _was_ she? Cassiopeia was in the business of knowing every face that was _anyone_ in Noxian high society, but this one was unknown to her, an oddity in and of itself.

In a deviation from the usual, the woman leaned in, continuing before Cass could summon her own cutting response back. She refused to draw back from the sudden invasion of her personal space—to step back was the first and greatest sign of weakness—but her skin suddenly prickled at the back of her neck and across her arms.

And she did not miss the feather light trail that foreign fingers and nails traced through the thin Ionian silk, teasing just the barest hint down her ribcage, yet stopping at her hip.

“Tell me, Cassiopeia Du Couteau, what if I could play you just as well?”

Her smile broke and her teeth were already bared in an ivory snarl before Cass caught herself. No one would make a fool of her twice at her own party.

Just as quickly, though, the momentary lapse was gone and replaced by her usual congenial mask...even if she had no doubt this stranger had not missed the quick transformation, passing though it was.

“You do a disservice as a guest in the place of your hosts,” she rebutted, reverting to as calm and unperturbed an appearance as ever, even while her voice and gaze dripped with unspoken threats. How dare this woman think to challenge her like this? To interrupt and to then try to goad her? “And without even the basic courtesy of introducing yourself first.”

The woman smiled, small and secretive, clearly amused by the fact that Cassiopeia did not know who she was, but after a moment she inclined her head with a flourish. “You may call me Evaine.”

No surname, no noble title. Cass waited until the pause stretched into awkwardness, but the woman—Evaine—seemed content to keep it at that.

“The Marquis, though...really?” Evaine shook her head at last, making a small clicking sound with her tongue. “I expected better from you for your own entertainment.”

“You presume quite a bit.”

Evaine hummed, and leaned in, insufferable smirk growing in way that only the stupid or the dangerous would allow. Cassiopeia was rapidly beginning to suspect it was not the former.

“I think you’ll find I presume quite a _lot_ , typically because I can.” Then she abruptly pulled back, glancing away. “Sadly, we don’t have such time now. I merely wanted to make introductions, to meet _the_ Cassiopeia Du Couteau for myself.”

“And why should I care who you are? If I didn’t know who you were until now, why should you be of any importance to me?” No one had ever treated her with such impudence before, and it still clawed at her, though she was hardly about to make a scene. Retaliation could come later.

Evaine quirked her head the slightest bit, and her lips shone a dark, almost purple-red in the lighting. For the first time in many years, Cass recognized a clear taunt. An open invitation.

“I suppose that remains to be seen...but I have little doubt we will soon meet again, Cassiopeia. In fact, you can count on it.”

Then she bowed. Cassiopeia debated stopping her, but instead decided to watch, committing every last detail to her memory as the woman who called herself ‘Evaine’ soon disappeared back into the crowd.

* * *

Cassiopeia sat on the veranda of the Du Couteau mansion, looking out over the perfectly landscaped gardens that lay behind the house proper.

The servants had already laid out an offering of mid-morning coffee and snacks, with a porcelain cup placed for each member of the Du Couteau family, though Cassiopeia remained alone for the time being, nibbling delicately from a slice of bread as she pondered her thoughts over steaming black coffee.

Father was a rarity for any sort of gathering or meal beyond proper dinner. Talon was loathe to be up before sunset on most days. And Katarina…

As if the passing thought were a summoning, the glass doors that led inside opened, and Kat walked out, already dressed in full leathers and armed, trying and failing to stifle a yawn.

“Wasn’t sure if you would be sleeping in today as well, sister.”

Kat waved away the half-question, eyes already greedily focused on the food and drink. “Work reports and some shit High Command needs from me today. Sleep in tomorrow once they get off my back.”

“Fascinating,” Cass deadpanned, already looking back out on the gardens, thoughts turning back yet again to the prior night.

Kat reached for a slice from the fresh bread, slathering it in jam before immediately wolfing the disaster down and drowning the crumbs back with a flood of hot coffee.

 _That_ sufficiently interrupted Cass’s thoughts enough for her send a biting glare at her sister. “You would think you were raised by Bilgewater sewer rats as opposed to being the heiress to the Du Couteau name and fortune, Kat dear.”

As if to punctuate that point—or more likely to deliberately shove it further into Cass’s face—Kat proceeded to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, and then loosely drape one arm on the back of her chair even as she pushed a booted foot up to rest on the edge of the table. The entire image was then topped off with a casual and taunting smirk.

Oh yes, definitely intended as a point back to Cass.

She sighed, nostrils flaring. How on earth she was related to so...so _crude_ a person...at times it made her temples ache to try and understand it. There would be appropriate payback in the future, of course. Cass would make sure of that.

“Not all of us can can put so much into our _appearances_ , Cass dear.”

She sighed again at the expected jibe, but Kat continued before Cassiopeia could interrupt with her own comeback.

“Speaking of which, I noticed _you_ didn’t leave the ball with anyone in tow last night.” Katarina raised her bisected eyebrow. “That’s an unusual sight from you.”

Cass sniffed at the comment. Katarina had never shied away from expressing her thoughts on how Cassiopeia served their family and country. As if blood and guts were the greatest of glory. Granted, knowing just how well Kat was in touch with her bloodlust, it was not entirely surprising. Nevermind that a bared blade could hardly solve most problems of the state.

“I see you had no problems filling your bed last night,” Cass remarked, letting her eyes slide back to Katarina, who now looked as thoroughly sated and pleased as a cat who had gotten the cream. Not that there were any overt signs of whatever violent romp Kat had indulged in. Katarina never let her entertainment for the evenings dare leave a mark on her, though Cassiopeia had no doubt that the woman Katarina had ducked out of the ball with had more than a fair share of marks left on her.

Kat did, after all, have a well-earned reputation for using her knives on more than just the battlefield. Typical.

Gods, but the difference in crudeness between the two of them was baffling at times.

For her part, Kat—of _course_ —had already managed to pull out one of her knives and was fiddling with it as she spoke offhandedly. “Extended assignments toward the Demacian border aren’t exactly the best for getting a good lay, believe it or not. I take advantage of when I’m actually back in the city proper.”

“You mean you aren’t secretly rendezvousing with that brainless Crownguard?” It was too hard to resist the sneer.

Kat’s face contorted as if in severe pain, and Cassiopeia allowed herself a pleased chortle at having landed a hit with the barbed comment.

“If I ever find out who started that rumor, I swear I will take my time in driving my dagger through their ribs. Repeatedly. Augh. I have _tastes_. And standards.” She gagged again.

Cass eased her own cup of coffee back to her lips, still smiling at the ludicrous thought. “Everyone knows that Demacians are prudes anyway. I should hope you could do better, sister.”

Kat made a sound like choking, and her voice came out as plaintive as she could manage. “Can we _not_ discuss this? I’d like to keep my food down, thanks.”

Not that they ever discussed Kat’s love and sex life or lack thereof...at least of the former.

But, ah...besides that one young woman, that honored captain with the peculiar white hair...Cass pursed her lips. No point in dwelling on what was done since the Ionia campaign had started. Kat would never hear of it, even from Cassiopeia. If her sister insisted on maintaining her pattern of one-night stands for whatever transient enjoyment it could give her, and drowning whatever semblance of emotions her stunted heart was still capable of, what was Cass to do about it?

Hardly worth the effort of getting into a spat over it.

Cassiopeia had already let her thoughts return back inward when Katarina interrupted, mouth still full of bread.

“What’s eating at you today?” prodded Kat, one eyebrow raised. “Normally you take every opportunity to try to get under my skin when it’s not even lunchtime yet.”

By most, it was an odd way of asking if Cassiopeia wanted to talk. But that was Kat, and Cassiopeia understood the concern and curiosity beneath the verbal hostility.

She hummed for a moment, debating.

“There...there was a woman at the ball last night, and I did not know who she was,” Cass admitted, lips already twisting in disdain at both the admission and at the way Kat’s eyebrows both shot up this time.

“ _You_ didn’t know someone there? Now that’s a first.”

That deserved only a strong rolling of eyes back. “Which is why I’m asking. She had dark hair—nearly blue black and chin length. Amber-golden eyes…”

She rattled off the description with all of the exact efficiency just as father had raised them to.

As Kat begin picking off names—ones that were already memorized in Cassiopeia’s head—Cass quickly grew exasperated. She should have known better than to expect anything helpful in this regard from her sister of all people.

“Come on, Kat, you know I make it my business to know _everyone_ at any gala that father asks me to host,” she interrupted, voice tart. “When I say I’ve never seen her before, I mean I’ve truly never seen this woman before.”

Which was more than troubling. Everyone in that room should have been on the list. And yet no one matched up with this unknown woman.

Kat, for her part though, seemed entirely unaffected by the revelation. She finished downing her coffee, replacing her dagger back into her belt sheath, and shrugged as she stood. Going to High Command no doubt.

What a dreary building. Darkwill simply had no tastes in interior design to speak of.

“Talk to father then if it’s such a big deal.”

Out of the question, and they both knew it. The General had far more important things to handle, and Cass would not waste his time with this personal mystery of hers, disconcerting though it was.

 _No_ , she thought to herself as Katarina took her leave. Her lips thinned as her mind whirled about her options, her questions. Cassiopeia Du Couteau would not be so quickly bested by any. She might not know who this stranger was now, but she was going to find out.

* * *

Buford’s High Quality Apothecary was nestled just on the edge between the wealthier part of town and the area where most women of blue blood stature were less likely to be found. Not that it had ever deterred Cassiopeia. She was a Du Couteau, and while she was not so talented with a blade in hand as her sister or adopted brother, she was more than capable of handling herself.

And only a true idiot would dare try to pull something against someone of her family name (though it had taken a few trips and more than a few sharp words with Talon to convince him of her safety when she first started making the daytime ventures on her own).

Buford himself was an aging alchemist, Noxian by birth but a man who studied at the Zaunite and Piltovian universities both when he was younger, before then conducting extensive travels across Valoran in pursuit of his apothecary research.

His ground floor shop was filled with a massive variety of living plants, special herbs and extracts, and chemicals for every ailment and need you could imagine. Cass had heard in passing that he had once been instrumental in working with High Command to develop the current generation of restorative potions and stimulants employed by the army, a claim she didn’t doubt.

But it was not for such chemicals and concoctions that she visited his store.

Once she entered the shop, the small bell attached to the door ringing to signify her entrance, Buford immediately excused himself from behind his counter, offering a bow as he adjusted his glasses.

“Ah, my lady Du Couteau, always a pleasure to receive you. One of your usual orders or…?”

Cassiopeia nodded politely, inclining her chin no more than necessary as from a person of her rank. “I’ve been looking to expand more lately. I’ve read a few interesting scrolls from Shurima and Kumungu…”

Buford nodded emphatically, his eyes lighting up as he guided the way toward a locked door near the back. He spoke as he undid the padlock, and then turned on the hextech lights that led to the basement.

“Of course, of course...so many interesting compounds come out of both areas. The crushed wings of scarab beetles, the giant fly-attracting flowers from the jungles...if only these bones were still young enough for such a research trip again...the new compounds I could find…”

Cass followed him down the wooden stairs until they arrived in the lower level, an entirely secretive shop of its own...and the true reason that Cassiopeia ever visited the ‘apothecary’. Buford knew how she preferred to browse, and gave a second bow.

“If you need anything, Lady Du Couteau…”

She nodded briskly, her attention already on her surroundings. “Then I shall be sure to grab you. My thanks.”

Then the old chemist was making his way quietly back up the stairs to his main source of business, leaving Cassiopeia to look over the small library of poisons that now surrounded her.

The shelves here were old, dusty, a far cry from their cousins upstairs. Evidence of how few touched such a form of art. And yet the various bottled liquids and powders and herbs and organs were kept meticulously organized, labels written in clear and unfading ink, the only warning for a practised and knowing mind to understand the dangers that lurked within the corked glasses.

She approached one shelf in particular, fingers running lightly over the labels as she perused the toxins. It was a private hobby of hers, really. Father did all in his power to keep Cassiopeia from handling most life and death situations, unlike Katarina. And normally Cass was perfectly fine with staying away from the messier methods that assassins practiced. But poison was an exception.

More often than not she used mild dilutions and dosages...designed to loosen tongues and confuse the faculties of her marks, make them more inclined to spill their secrets in the heat of the moment. But she had killed before with poison, too, yes. It was a scant handful of times when father had commanded it of her. Situations that were better served by an insidious drink than a dagger in the dark. Different concoctions had been used each time. Once a fast-acting toxin had been needed, once a slow-onset death. Once even she had needed to take the poison herself in the shared food in order to gain trust...and then consume the antidote afterward.

All singular instances yes, but there had been something daring, exciting, almost addictive about putting to practice so risky a gamble. To get under the tightest of guards of a person, and to seize their life when they were certain of their own safety.

And without any of the mess that slitting a throat or driving a blade into the ribs would make.

So while the need for a truly lethal poison was uncommon enough, Cass enjoyed expanding her knowledge as much as expanding her own modest collection.

Her fingers stopped on one particular vial, and she picked it up delicately.

 _Ground Frost-Banshee Tooth_.

Freljord...known for its intense hallucinogenic properties in even small dosages, more than half a gram could stop a grown man’s lungs in minutes. Incredibly difficult and expensive to obtain, but an incredibly effective poison.

An interesting addition to her collection, considering how her current poisons were mostly derived from the southern and eastern regions of Valoran. Perhaps...

“So the rumors of your tastes prove true, then.”

For a rare moment, Cassiopeia’s heart was in her throat, thudding with a sharp sense of danger, yes, but something more. Unmistakable. The dim room brightened somewhat as her eyes dilated, and she know without even turning just whose lips now hovered near her ear, whose breasts pressed with just the barest, featherlight tease against her back.

The thought, passing and curious, fluttered through her mind for a brief moment: were those lips as equally soft and honeyed as the words that flowed from them? Or as unrelenting and poisonous as the mind that spoke them?

Cassiopeia took the long second to continue with her business, replacing the small vial onto the shelf before turning easily around, as if it were but an everyday occurrence for near-strangers to dare press up against her.

“And I see your tastes prove unsurprisingly similar, Evaine. What a chance meeting.”

As if. It was anything but. Buford’s “special” basement apothecary was visited only by the most select clientele, and never once had Cassiopeia encountered another soul during the same time as her own visits. Least of all one so coincidental as this.

Father’s first rule of espionage: there was no such thing as coincidence.

Evaine, for her part, rather than taking a step back, did the opposite and stepped in even closer, reaching past Cassiopeia’s shoulder to grab the only just-replaced vial from the shelf.

“Indeed,” she murmured, the only acknowledgment to the blunt insinuation Cassiopeia had made. Her focus already seemed wholly on the dusty vial, and she handled it with a casual ease, even as she made no effort to move away.

Doubtlessly intentional, but Cassiopeia, annoyed as she was by the deliberate gesture to irritate her, refused to show such. Rather, she consciously forced each muscle to relaxation, leaning the small of her back against the hard wood of the shelving, taking as much time to study Evaine as the opportunity allowed.

Her black hair was pulled back today, and she wore a high collared outfit colored in purples and blacks that was far less revealing than the dress Cassiopeia recalled from the ball...though no less skin tight.

Which hardly appeared to be an issue. Evaine was of average height, within an inch of Cassiopeia’s stature. Fit, lean, a full chest and well curved hips, perhaps even slightly more petite than Cass was. Her black nails were perfectly manicured, and there was not even the faintest hint of acne or the chance scar on what pale skin was exposed.

All this and more spoke volumes to the money and blue blood that _had_ to be behind her; fortunate though she was to be born a Du Couteau, Cass knew full well just how impossibly difficult it was to rise in the social ladders of Noxus. There were the occasional exceptions, of course—Darius and Draven, Talon, even that odd white-haired captain that Katarina had taken such an interest in before the Ionian Campaign started—but these were rarities. Exceptions. And they garnered attention for being such exceptions.

Evaine, she was certain, was different.

This was a woman who casually acted as if she knew every last secret of Noxus, as if she pulled all the invisible and dark strings.

Only a fool would act so boldly.

Or a truly powerful individual.

A thrill of something shot through Cassiopeia’s stomach, nearly catching her off guard for a moment. Interesting...that a woman she still yet knew so little of evoked such a strong instinctual reaction from her.

Tension in her neck and shoulder, the tightening of her abdominal muscles, the urge to a shallower breath...and conversely to breathe deeper in order to control it. The first step in reading other people was in being able to read herself, and Cass noted every last physiological response from her body, filing the information away for later reexamination, before re-exerting her steely control on whatever her body physically expressed.

Just because Evaine appeared to be focused on the vial did not mean she was not equally observing Cassiopeia back. In fact, Cass suspected the woman was doing just that.

“You have me at a disadvantage, I believe, _Evaine_.”

“Do I now? And you’re rather unused to that aren’t you?” Evaine murmured as she replaced the vial, brushing against Cassiopeia yet again before finally, _finally_ stepping back.

“And if I admitted yes, what then? Let’s not be rude with one another.”

Evaine seemed to consider the words, lips pursed for a long moment. Her eyes were heavy lidded, gold just barely glinting out from underneath her dark lashes.

“Indeed...we are nothing without manners and decorum, are we not?” Then she bowed abruptly, flourishing her arm out to the side. “Evaine. Evaine LeBlanc.”

Which was noteworthy by the very fact that the name still meant absolutely nothing to Cassiopeia. Just who amongst the Noxian high class could boast to that?

Cass chose to shrug instead, letting herself appear unimpressed. “You’ve found me then. Just as you said. Do you expect a congratulations? Or what favors did you think you exact from me?”

“Favors!” exclaimed Evaine. “Perish the thought. No, I have something I think will be interest to you. A proposition if you will. You’ll pardon me but boredom has gotten the better of me as of late. So…”

Her eyes sparkled with something different than Cassiopeia had seen before in anyone else. Something that spoke of temptation. Of risk. And of very, very certain reward.

“Shall we play a _game_ , you and I?”

Cass crossed her arms still, raising an eyebrow and refusing to show how much interest she already had. “A game?”

Evaine’s smirk grew. “Yes...if you are interested. And I believe I can pique your interest...assuming I haven’t already.”

“Very well. Entertain me.”

Evaine chuckled.

“You are curious, are you not? Just _who_ exactly am I, what exactly am I playing at? You wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t already wondered these questions a hundred time over already. Consider it like a game of chess, except the rules and limits are whatever you want them to be. It is a game of skills, my dear, where the true prize isn’t simply information or a life...it’s _winning_.”

An answer the likes of which would normally put Cassiopeia off, and yet her interest _was_ piqued. She’d never encountered anyone like Evaine before, anyone who so very, very obviously was molded of the same quality as Cass, who dealt not in weapons of steel, but in weapons of information and manipulation.

And who seemed more than worthy of providing an actual challenge...if only for Cassiopeia to learn just _what_ this strange woman was playing at. Not to mention things had been slowing down as of late with orders and assignments from father...

Still…

“And what do you stand to gain? Since you apparently know of _me_ oh so well already. Why this proposition?” An unfortunate side effect of living under one of the most prominent family names in Noxus short of ‘Darkwill’.

“Oh my dear…” Evaine dared to reach in, and Cass decided to permit it, watching for her body’s own response—for Evaine’s own excitement—as Evaine trailed her nails up Cassiopeia’s neck, over her carotid pulse, finally resting underneath her chin. “Because I am very, _very_ curious about you.”

They both knew what Cass’s response would be.

* * *

Their first ‘arrangement’, as Cassiopeia chose to call it, was in a far less conspicuous of locations.

Sitting on the veranda of one of the Noble Quarter’s premier coffee shops surrounded by a scattering of other patrons hardly seemed the imagined location for a deadly game of wits.

The waiter came with their porcelain cups and their servings of heavy, dark coffee, and then left them just as quickly, their conversation already devolving around a focus on knowledge of poisons and other mind-altering compounds.

“So you mean to say you think could identify being dosed with most poisons?” Cassiopeia leaned in, curious, as Evaine took a spare second to add a sugar cube to her coffee. Quite the boast for anyone to make. Cass herself was already familiar with every compound in Buford’s shop, and then some.

“Go ahead then. Test me.”

It was a dare, and Cassiopeia thought carefully before responding.

“Terrintree bark. Twice charcoaled and then ground to a powder.”

Evaine closed her eyes for a long while, and when she smiled as if having discovered something fantastic, Cass sighed, knowing already that the woman had the answer.

“Faintly sour. Better used as an inhalant than an oral toxin. Causes slow asphyxiation over the course of months as it quite literally melts across the inside of a man’s lungs.” Evaine reopened her eyes now, and nodded her head once. “I’m impressed, I admit. Shadow Isles...we know so little of where the Black Mist originates, and all too few are willing to investigate. That _is_ a rare one. But now then…”

Evaine stretched back, looking smug enough that Cass wanted to wipe it from her face. She hadn’t come here to merely discuss knowledge of poisons.

“I think I deserve something for winning that bet, and you owe something for losing. ‘Kiss up’, as they say?”

Shock made Cassiopeia pause for a moment, not because of the request itself but because that _was_ the request. Something that boorish and predictable...really? Perhaps she had expected too much. Nonetheless, she would hardly back down if the woman thought she was so easily cowed by the thought of onlookers.

Cass stood, taking the two short strides around the table they shared.

She didn’t hesitate but immediately leaned in, brushing her lips across Evaine’s, featherlight, but slow enough to mark just how deliberate a choice it was.

When she finished, she pulled back just an inch, lips parted to exhale, pinning Evaine’s gaze with her own for a long few seconds, mind now reeling for an entirely different set of reasons.

Control was a finely tuned skill, and so Cassiopeia deliberately waited until she had take her own seat again, had noted in the peripheral of her vision just how many other persons had watched the exchange.

And even then, she held for the exact moment, when Evaine was yet again bringing her coffee cup up to her own lips for a second sip. She had indeed given the woman too little credit prior to now.

“And what poison is in your carmine?”

Evaine set down her porcelain cup into its dish, and Cassiopeia did not miss the flash of pleased and almost proud surprise when her eyes widened ever so slightly.

“And how did you come to that conclusion?”

“Cosmetics are used for looks, not tastes. Yours was sweet.” She cut off the potential counterargument before it could be spoken. “A subtle sweetness, yes, but not that can be accounted for by whatever residue from the single sugar cube you chose to add to your coffee. Least of all on your lips.”

Now it was Cassiopeia’s turn to lean in rather than lean back, curious. “I admit that leaves a rather small pool of toxins known to me that taste sweet rather than bitter or sour.”

An answer was pleasantly forthcoming, recited with exact precision.

“Extract from petals of the golden sage flower. It can only be found in the western reaches of Demacia, and only harvested when it blooms for about two weeks near the end of spring. It’s a slow acting poison, taking multiple hours or even up to a day before the effects set in. Bleeding from the nose is the most notable, followed by slow bleeding from internal organs.”

Ah...Demacia. That explained her lack of immediate familiarity with it. No doubt there were a wide variety of poisons to be derived from Demacian sources, but given the state of diplomatic relations…

Well, unsurprising that she was not versed with this. And something to note that Evaine was.

Evaine reached around her throat, drawing out the long silver chain necklace she wore, revealing a small crystal vial attached to the end of it containing a clear liquid. The vial was unhooked and then held out, unspoken reward.

“Interestingly, the very antidote for the poison can be made from grinding and boiling the roots of the plant...and is, unfortunately, notably bitter.”

Only when Cassiopeia took the vial from her did she continue.

“Highly effective antidote. Not even a full drop is needed to completely and quickly negate the effects.” Cass undid the miniscule stopper while Evaine spoke, sniffing curiously. “I was hoping that you would graciously share.”

That made Cassiopeia pause. Very little liquid was in the vial itself.

She considered her options.

Then, she tilted the meager contents past her lips, leaving a smear of her own carmine on the crystal. The antidote washed over her tongue, intensely bitter, though she refused to make any face. Rather, before swallowing the few droplets, she stuck her tongue out, just enough for her rub the end of one fingertip in what little of the antidote collected there.

Only after swallowing did she then speak, voice perfectly light, hand now held out.

“Show me how gracious you are then.”

Her finger glistened with the mixture of antidote and saliva, proffered halfway across the table. Cassiopeia remained unconcerned, though. Doubtlessly Evaine had extra antidote on her body. The real test question here was somewhat else.

She waited, eyes half-closed as if sleepy, hand half-limp...as if she couldn’t care less as to what Evaine chose to do. But her gaze remained unblinking. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, counting the seconds. Waiting.

Others would have given themselves away by now. Would have shuddered, blushed. Anything to show their revulsion or humiliation or even their desire.

But this woman...she was truly different.

She didn’t hesitate, showed no apparent care that anyone might watch. Her hand snaked out to grab Cass’s wrist, and she leaned in.

Evaine’s lips parted, warm tongue teasing the tip of Cass’s finger, before taking in the digit. Her mouth wrapped around the first two knuckles, soft and velvety, licking sucking off whatever of the antidote was stuck to skin, and then some. And all the while Evaine looked up at Cassiopeia through her eyelashes, utterly and completely unafraid, smirk evident even now on her lips.

Cassiopeia was tempted—how she was tempted—to push another finger against those red lips. To keep Evaine working until each digit had received the same carefully detailed treatment, to see just how much she could take, and how much Evaine would agree to give up. Yet as soon as the thought occurred to her, Evaine was already pulling back, teeth scraping against knuckles just the faintest amount as her tongue caressed Cass’s finger one last time.

Evaine released Cass’s hand, and her eyes were piercingly knowing, as if she knew precisely what thoughts had passed through Cassiopeia’s mind.

“Quite generous of you,” Evaine commented easily, looking for all the world as though their positions had been reversed, as if it were her who had just managed to force some concession from Cass.

Cassiopeia did not let it perturb her.

“I think you’ll find I can be, when I fancy to.”

Whoever Evaine LeBlanc was, Cassiopeia was more certain than ever that there was far more than what met the eye.

And as they sipped coffee, exchanging but surface pleasantries, she had already committed herself to just finding out just what secrets lurked beneath that surface.

* * *

Cass had grown accustomed to taking her meals largely in solitary for the last several weeks. It was not an intentional move by any means. Things had grown unseasonably quiet within the Du Couteau household proper for some time now, and for a variety of reasons, one of the foremost being the state of things in Ionia.

Not that Cassiopeia personally cared much here or there about war—she was no soldier or officer—but she did care about information, and how it could be used, be it now or for the future. And she knew things were not going as planned.

Katarina had been nigh incapable of holding anything even remotely resembling a civilized conversation since the official, final, and damning report on Couer had arrived. Not that Cassiopeia had it in her to blame her sister. The one time Kat had actually seemed to open herself up and…

Cass shook her head, banishing the thought. There was nothing to be done except to let Kat go about her ways expressing herself as she normally would, through violence. If it grew too out of control, father would step in and reign in his eldest born.

Which also seemed unlikely to happen anytime soon. Marcus Du Couteau had been spending nearly every waking hour—and many normally spent sleeping—at High Command, no doubt in long talks with Boram Darkwill himself. Ionia was quickly falling into nothing short of a full on disaster. The leaps and bounds they’d initially made in the first year of the campaign had not simply slowed to a halt, but were actively being taken back. Oh, the Noxian war machine still firmly controlled the southern point of the island, but the dreams of quickly capturing the capital and bringing the whole of the island nation under Noxian subjugation was now becoming more and more of just that: a dream. Meanwhile, casualties were skyrocketing, and even more concerning, desertion from the army was becoming a daily norm.

Though the war was far removed from Noxus’ own borders, the tide of news could not be fully stemmed, and gripings of malcontent were arising not merely amongst the common people, but within quiet ranks amongst High Command itself.

That explained why father had been largely absent, both in person and in terms of all and any marks he might have normally wanted Cassiopeia to look into. Short of the diplomats that would be visiting from the Freljord in just over two months time, Cassiopeia had been oddly in the clear in terms of work that Marcus Du Couteau was demanding, leaving her more than ample time to pursue her own interests and ventures. And indeed, the amount of figurative claw-stretching that Cassiopeia had engaged in as of late might have otherwise raised more than a few interrogating questions from father had he the time to focus his attention on her.

Not to say that Cassiopeia was doing anything particularly _wrong_. Marcus had always encouraged his children to hone their skills even when he had no tasks at hand for them. But even Cass was aware enough to note that the considerable amount of time and resources she had already pooled into learning more about the woman who called herself Evaine LeBlanc was enough to raise eyebrows.

All of her usual inquiries and investigations had yielded dead ends. Bank accounts that couldn’t be traced, great and minor noble houses associated with a name that didn’t seem to exist. Oh, Cassiopeia had suspected from the get-go that “Evaine” was not a real name...and all evidence thus far seemed to point at it being one of many.

Cass was unable to suppress her own sneer as the faint hint of cologne that wafted off of her own skin and reached her nose. She had been hungry enough upon arriving home to vote in favor of breaking her fast with the early lunch that was being prepared than to go scrub herself clean from last night’s excursions.

She smelled too much like a whore-house...namely because that is precisely where she had been. Not that she had gone for any of the prostitutes themselves—though if father knew her ‘research’ had taken her to a brothel, she would have certainly faced more than a few simple questions on just who and what she was investigating.

No, she had gone pursuing a bigger fish to catch.

A bastard son of one of the great houses, disowned from an early age, he’d made quite the mercantile name for himself and had even acquired a land title, one that Cassiopeia had been able to just barely trace to Evaine. One that she hoped would be more forthcoming than the blue-blooded nobles and the powerful guildsmen that she tried to tease information from thus far.

Of course, the man kept to his roots of where his money had been made: in controlling brothels.

Still, the way his eyes had widened into the size of saucer plates when she had been escorted into his private office had said it all. Connection he might have had, but never in his wildest fantasies had he imagined Cassiopeia Du Couteau walking into his brothel office, fully dressed to fully _impress_ , and seemingly just as eager to please him as what he had only dreamed of.

Oh and how eager had he been, as if Cass would think of visiting him a second time, as if he’d actually grown to some perceived fame that one of the most beautiful and influential young nobles in the whole of the capital had suddenly decided to curry her favor onto him.

Gods, but she needed to rid herself of the scent of him that still vaguely clung to her.

He _had_ been certain to act just about every such fantasy he’d had with Cass. Enough such that Cass pursed her lips even now. _Very_ rarely was she ever so generous in the volume and quality of control she allowed her marks to have, and it was irksome to admit she had committed so much toward trying to get answers.

And all that for _still_ not even being able to get full answers she desired.

Even with all of her skill, he had closed up at the end as she had carefully delved into his connections, refusing to utter anything more than the slightly cryptic phrase, “Even a rose has thorns.”

For the first time, Cassiopeia had fully exhausted all of the leads she was capable of following up on herself, leaving her at an extremely vexing crossroad of unknowns.

She was hardly about to quit or admit defeat to that woman. Not quite just yet. She’d not been outwitted in years, and she wasn’t about to be now.

Her usual solitude was interrupted by a rare face.

Talon entered the dining hall, the bits of still drying mud splashed on his cloak and leggings testament to the night’s work he was clearly just returning from. He gave his typical perfunctory nod to Cass, which she returned, and began loading up a plate with food, clearly intending to take his gains and retreat to the privacy of his room before sleeping. His usual modus operandi.

Until a sudden thought occurred to Cass, and she latched onto it.

“Talon.”

He stiffened immediately, looking nothing more than a cookie jar thief suddenly caught and called out. She and Talon were not always on the most talkative of terms between one another, true. Still, like the loyal dog to House Du Couteau he was, he stopped and turned around, warily trying to get a measure of his adoptive sister.

“Cassiopeia. I’ve just come in from a long night of work. I was going to—”

“I’d like to call in a favor from you.” No point in mincing words. She _did_ want to get to that bath as soon as possible.

Talon sighed, recognizing when he was cornered, and took a seat. “What do you want, then? You understand the General has me working nearly every night now. There’s far more I am responsible for than just helping out with whatever your current fancy is.”

Cass waved away his concerns with one hand. “You have people don’t you? Contacts? I’m not looking for a hit.” Her nose flared to express what she thought of that line of work. She was far more elegant than that. “All I’m looking for is information. Just a name, actually.”

“A...name,” repeated Talon, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “That’s it. And this is something that you can’t manage to get yourself or from your own contacts?”

Some of her patience snapped. “I’ve exhausted my own ends in the noble and merchant circles. I wouldn’t be asking you if this didn’t require me looking into the Undercity.”

Silence greeted her for a long moment, and she could see Talon mulling it over. He knew just as well as her just how rare it was for Cass to not get what she wanted using her own methods and informants. Finally, he nodded his head. He _did_ owe her after all. She’d done a few things for him in the past; collecting favors was a habit she had cultivated through the years for good reason.

“Very well. What is it you want? I have some birdies that might be able to help. There’s always more chatter that goes on in the Undercity than what nobles seem to realize.”

Which was what she was banking on. That and the ability to buy out information from more desperate mouths and hands than those who were well-off.

“Like I said, a name. A _true_ name. All I have is this: Evaine LeBlanc.” She hesitated for a moment, and then decided to trust her gut. “And a phrase: ‘Even a rose has thorns’.”

Talon moved his lips, silently repeating and committing to memory. Then he stood. “All right. I’ll pass it on.” Discreetly of course. That went without saying. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to sleep.”

Cassiopeia nodded and he took his leave, placing her own napkin and utensils down a moment later.

High time she took a well earned bath and nap herself.

* * *

There was only ever so much proverbial dancing about to be had between two like-minded individuals before they ended up in bed. Well, the original expression from the Undercity was far more vulgar than that (Talon had once corrected her on it), but the heart of the message remained the same.

So what was remarkable more than anything else was simply that it had taken as long as it did for Cassiopeia to end up there with Evaine. Far longer than for any other mark she had set on before. Tremendously long considering just how many other individuals Cassiopeia had slept with during the interim with the specific purpose of trying extract more information about just _who_ Evaine LeBlanc was.

Not that she expected giving into the more carnal of acts between the two of them would give her any more leads than what she was still waiting on from Talon’s informants, but really, was there a point in dancing about the mutual interest and challenge anymore when they were both equally interested in pushing those boundaries to gain an upper hand?

The Noxian Grande Theatre never had been known for its most innovative of plays, so to speak. It was typically the same archetypes over and over again. Something ‘war’, something ‘death’, and then something ‘glory of Noxus’.

The current play on show for the night was no exception. ‘The End of a Dynasty’...the story that _every_ Noxian and Demacian alike already knew of how King Jarvan I had had his head ripped from his shoulders on the battlefield by Sion, stemming the Demacian army and creating the turning point in that war for Noxus. There was nothing new nor particularly enthralling about this portrayal of events.

Which in turn made their own sequence of events in the privacy of the Du Couteau box seats all the more inevitable. Cassiopeia had been the one to invite Evaine to the play, knowing full well the box seats would be occupied by the two of them only...and mayhap knowing full well that the show would not be the true entertainment for the evening either.

They had spoken briefly of politics, briefly of Ionia, of the barbarians...and intriguingly, briefly of Kalamanda, of which Cass had yet herself to hear anything on. Something to peruse later. The first triumph of the night for Cassiopeia had come with the successful use of her poison needle ring. Just the slightest prick of it when laying her hand onto Evaine. She had been polite about it, too...rotgall poison was hardly that deadly.

Evaine had been delighted with it, though. A ‘true mastery of craftsmanship’ that had made Cass preen when Evaine had requested to know just where Cassiopeia had gotten such a tiny feat of engineering from.

Cass had been far further pleased when Evaine had willingly accepted the antidote directly from her mouth.

Particularly coarse of her, yes. But when boundaries were to be felt out and then pushed...

So when Cassiopeia had returned from first intermission with a glass of sparkling wine in hand, and Evaine had chosen to press very fully up behind her, wandering hands toying easily with Cass’s breasts through the fabric of her dress, it had all quickly fallen into place from there.

Vulgar, really, copulating in the private box seat balcony. It was something to be expected of someone with no control. Her sister maybe. Not Cassiopeia Du Couteau. And yet this had been a choice made while fully in control...perhaps, she had to admit to herself, precisely because she wanted to push down such boundaries.

Not that _she_ was the one with her back against the wall of the box office, bodice undone and dress skirts pushed up for easy access. And still an entire third act left in the play.

Interesting to note how Evaine was still so carefully quiet. Not that Cassiopeia particularly wanted to call attention to their covert activities...gods forbid she cause a scandalous stir that might get back to father’s ears. Yet the obvious restraint that Evaine displayed...even now when was pushed to the wall, half-exposed and Cassiopeia’s hand working steadfastly between her legs.

Cass pursed her lips, drinking in all of the signs from Evaine. Flushed face. Eyes fluttered closed. Lips caught between opening and teeth biting them closed. Hips pushing greedily into Cassiopeia’s wrist. Fingers gripping and Cass’s shoulders, at her back—she’d certainly have marks left, a small sort of victory. But Cass wanted more from her. Demanded it.

Evaine’s throat moved as she swallowed, and Cassiopeia could have snarled at how the only sounds that emerged were sharp and shallow gasps for breath, faint above the loud background that was the play.

She could feel Evaine getting closer, telltale signs of her back arching, her muscles tightening and then tightening further.

None of that now. Not unless Evaine was willing to truly earn it. And Cass intended to make her earn it.

Cassiopeia ducked her head in toward Evaine’s ear, stray hairs tickling at her lips.

“What do you want?” she hissed.

When no response was forthcoming...well, there had to be repercussions, no?

Yet contrary to all her expectations, when Cassiopeia pulled away, when she brought her arm back, Evaine did not groan. She did not plead or beg or even lean in for more.

Instead she leaned back against the wall, only increasing the separation between them...and she laughed.

Mirth, rich and full, echoed through the box, not so loud as to ring out past their thinly veiled privacy, but enough to stop Cassiopeia very, very short.

“I suppose that’s excitement for the evening, isn’t it?” Encouraged, Evaine already began readjusting herself and easing away from the wall. Not even the faintest hint that Cassiopeia had just been guiding her toward an otherwise impending orgasm second earlier.

 _Not_ what Cass had been certain she was to get.

Evaine favored her with a quick kiss, smirking and calling to life Cass’s swift and immediate ire as their lipstick smeared further. Her next words only increased it.

“Do me a favor then, Cassiopeia. Tonight when you finish yourself off—because I know you will, just as you know I will do the same—be a dear and be sure to think of me.”

Cassiopeia’s reaction was instantaneous before she could even think to control it. Fury flooded through her, jaw clenching and blood rushing to her cheeks.

 _No_ one played her as none the wiser.

Yet as Evaine took her gliding leave from the box—never mind the third act still to come—easily slipping her gown back into place, Cass was left with nothing but her own furious embarrassment at having been outmaneuvered...and her thoughts at how to even the score.

* * *

Cassiopeia was rudely woken up from something that seemed like a particularly satisfying dream by a loud pounding on her bedroom door and the unmistakably pitch of Talon’s voice yelling at her to get her “ass of bed now”.

She jolted awake, throwing on a silk robe to cover herself before throwing the door open from her bedroom, eyes flashing lightning. Brother or no, who the hell did Talon think he was?

Talon was waiting in her receiving chambers, and the sharp talking to that Cassiopeia was intending to give him for waking her was cut off before she could even fully open her mouth. 

“You got not one but two of my birdies killed looking for this information.” For once, a sharp bead of anger slipped into Talon’s normally sleepy voice, and his eyes burned darkly as he stared at Cass. “And before you ask, they were both far from amateur. Two of my best. They knew what they were doing. None of my other contacts are willing to take up this goosechase of yours based on the way the bodies were left to be found. Or what was left of the bodies. Whatever exactly you’re trying to get information on runs far higher up than Undercity, and the cost is already too high for a damned momentary ‘interest’ of yours.”

Cassiopeia pushed aside her uneasiness in favor expressing her disdain and impatience instead. “Well and did they get the information?”

Talon paused...long enough that Cass began to worry she may have actually pushed him too far. The he produced a single piece of worn parchment, and place it on the table by the fireplace. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into, Cass. Consider your favor now paid.”

Without even waiting for a response, he turned and left, disappearing like a quiet shadow out of Cass’s receiving chamber and leaving her alone once again.

Cass frowned. Why Talon was so upset was somewhat beyond her. Losing informants was always a regrettable loss, of course, but she knew he had many, many more, and sometimes it was really was the price to be paid for good information. There was no need to get hostile over it.

But then, Talon was from the Undercity originally. Perhaps she would simply never understand those aspects about him.

That momentary quandary now satisfactorily resolved, Cass returned her full attention to the one thing that truly deserved it.

She flipped over the piece of parchment, ignoring the brown-black flecks of dried liquid that were almost certainly blood. No, her focus was on the single word written with shaky hands in black ink.

After a long minute, she crumpled the parchment and then threw it into the crackling fireplace, returning to her chambers.

* * *

The winter masquerade really was a once in year event. Celebrated across the city, by all castes, it was a true holiday, and the gods (if they did exist) knew Noxus was in need of a cause to celebrate.

For the highest echelon of the city, it was an occasion to completely deck out, to try to one-up other noble families with more exotic and creative finery, more inspirational designs and elegance. It was typically one of Cassiopeia’s favorite balls, and this year House Du Couteau had received the honor of hosting for the Great Houses and High Command.

Even if she had not been placed in charge of the ball organization itself, she had to admit it had been expertly handled, from the ice sculpture punch drinks to the faux snow decorations to the guest list itself.

Of course, the guest list for the masquerade was almost a special kind of game for Cassiopeia: trying to determine just which individuals were hidden under which ornate masks. And she had a history of being remarkably good at it...which was perhaps why Katarina had angrily refused to get into contests of it with her years earlier.

Nevermind not having a contest out of it. Cassiopeia could compete with herself. It was, most times, despairingly easy. The gaits, the mannerisms, the bits of hair that peeked out and then even the voices. Too easy.

Which is why Cassiopeia was particularly pleased with herself when halfway through the long night she espied one individual that dispelled all of the boredom that had otherwise been piling up on her.

Her hair was a different color—dyed?—stark white against the black and purple notes of her mask and dress. But Cassiopeia was as certain of who it was as ever, and she slowly made her way through the crowd of masked faces, waving away several attempt by others to beg a dance or her passing attention.

Only once close enough to just barely brush up against her back did Cassiopeia speak.

“Birds of a feather...as they say?”

Evaine turned to meet her, and then bowed her head, black feathers from her mask bobbing ever so slightly. Now that she was closer, Cassiopeia could see that the fine metalwork of the Evaine’s mask curled up into the feathering to create the shape of a different sort of fowl: a black swan it was then. Even her lips were painted a deep black to complete the effect.

Whoever, her stylist and tailor were, Cass approved. Tasteful. Distinctive...but not so exotic as to make her stand out _too_ much from a crowd.

“Well met, Cassiopeia. A raven, is it?” Evaine reach up to delicately trace the metalwork and black onyx crystals tucked into Cass’s own mask.

“You’re amused,” accused Cass, irritated more by the fact that she did not understand _why_ rather than the amusement itself.

“It’s nothing. Simply something I had considered myself, but then I thought that too cliche of _me_ , you understand. The green, though...you wear it well.”

Cass instinctively tilted her chin up a hair further. She _had_ been pleased with her tailor’s decision to go with a black and green coloring for her dress and mask, rather than the predictable pure black. It’s wasn’t an overwhelming amount of color, but distinct. Unique. And tasteful.

“Shall we have a dance, then? It is a ball, is it not.”

She was pleased to note the passing pause from Evaine, evidence of having been slightly caught off guard by the invitation. Cass had fostered the suspicion that Evaine, for as much as displayed a vast control and knowledge over many things, was a person who was not much for the limelight. At a regular ball, Cassiopeia suspected she might not have managed to pull such a concession from the other woman. But when everyone in the entire ballroom had their identity literally masked...well…

Evaine took the first step toward the proper dance floor.

There always was the question, when moving out onto the dancefloor with another woman. Who would lead and who would follow. No different than in other, more intimate settings, Cass had long since learned how to perform both.

Their gloved fingers intertwined, and Cassiopeia rested her off hand onto the curve of Evaine’s hip, forcing Evaine to take the role of following before the woman had a chance or thought to reverse their roles.

The small pit orchestra halted for a bare second, about to switch songs, and Cassiopeia dipped her head the slightest bit. No words were needed. The next song began, and then she led. 

And Evaine followed.

It came as no shock that she seemed a superb dance partner, moving fluidly against Cass with a grace that came only through years of practice.

As they twirled through the steps, Cassiopeia applied more pressure with her off hand, slipping her fingers beneath the fabric and against skin where a convenient slit was contoured into Evaine’s dress. Her thumb rubbed against the jut of one hip, and she dug in with her nails even through her gloves, smirking when Evaine’s black-painted lips parted to inhale a breath.

They were dancing close now, close enough for their bodices to scrape fabric against fabric.Close enough that when either of them tilted their head in just a fraction more, the metalwork that covered their noses could brush, creating the the smallest of tinkling sounds quickly lost to the music.

How tempting it was, to dig her fingers in even further, to finish pulling Evaine that inch in toward her.

The song reached a crescendo, approaching its climax, and Cassiopeia did just that, tugging Evaine flush to her. Hips pressed to hips, heat radiating just beneath thin silk. Evaine’s lips remained parted just the slightest bit, head tilted back the barest degree in invitation. Cass dipped her lips down to brush, but hovered that barest of distances, waiting, waiting as the tension rose and rose.

And then she pulled back, releasing Evaine and giving the traditional bow and smirking as the song finished.

She watched Evaine close her eyes and then bow back. “Like many things, you are a skilled dancer as well.”

Cass quirked her head. “If I am going to invest my time into a skill, I will be certain that I achieve more than simple proficiency at that skill.”

Which was the truth. It was a waste to invest herself in anything only to remain ‘mediocre’. Excellence was the only standard worth pursuing in life.

“Would you prefer another dance or…?” Evaine left the question hanging, deliberately suggestive, and Cass was already half moving before she fully answered.

“A ball is a ball. And this is not my ball. Let us refresh ourselves.”

She led the way from the ballroom back through the Du Couteau private gardens and toward the mansion proper. The noise of the masquerade quickly faded behind them, leaving them to their privacy, privacy Cassiopeia knew that they both intended to make full use of.

She took Evaine to her chambers.

Not her true sleeping chambers of course, for all that the room had a bed. No, Cass kept her own sleeping chambers well and truly private.

This was her work and play room alike, where countless secrets had been spilled over the quiet air, over the sheet and pillows, over the floor and walls and so, so many more interesting positions. Really, almost more of a workshop.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Cassiopeia turned. It wasn’t like her to rush things, but this was less about rushing and far more about ensuring she _would_ get what she intended to. In due time.

She gripped Evaine’s chin, letting her nail dig into the jaw. Surprising...that Evaine so readily tilted her head up. Made no premise of resistance or any attempts to control the tempo. No, her warm lips opened easily, allowing Cass free reign to explore with lips and tongue alike.

Perhaps this was less of a challenge than she had thought.

As if to spite the thought, Evaine quickly slipped out of her grip, quirking her head.

“Not even a tour first?” She asked cloyingly.

Sighing, Cass backed up, gesturing with one hand to the room as she instead took a seat by the small table near the front of the room. She _was_ interested to see what Evaine’s thoughts were.

“By all means, help yourself.” In the meanwhile, she would help _herself_. She uncorked the crystal decanter of wine and poured herself a glass, sipping lightly as she watched.

Evaine began to walk as though she owned the place, and Cass nearly rolled her eyes as the woman surveyed her surroundings. It was an opportunity to study her target though, to try to learn more...from the way Evaine hardly seemed surprised by anything—the hooks on the ceiling, the riding horse, the nearly hidden and yet still tasteful chains along the posts of the bed. She walked slowly, inspecting all the while, opening the drawers to the great dresser that held implements far more useful than mere clothes.

She caught the way Evaine’s eyes did not widen in surprise but narrowed in pleased delight.

From any other, Cassiopeia would have bristled at so knowing a look, at so bold a presumption to go through Cass’s own very, very personal belongings. But this was far different from any other such liaison had in this room.

Instead she watched with interest at the way Evaine fingered the lengths of Ionian silk rope, giving a low hum of approval; how her hands moved over the harnesses and crops and other instruments of pain and pleasure with a familiar ease.

As expected.

Evaine’s hands stopped upon reaching the gold plated dildo, and she turned with one eyebrow raised skeptically. “Really?”

Cassiopeia gave an easy shrug, still smirking at the memory. “One mark in particular was a woman who enjoyed gold...very, _very_ much.”

Evaine replaced the toy carefully, still smiling as she turned back.

“An impressive collection, even for a Noxian of nobility.”

Cass gestured. “Tools. Like any job—mason, smith, soldier—they simply aid the process. But you would know that, wouldn’t you?”

A single nod was the unspoken affirmation. “Indeed I do.”

Seemingly content with her inspection, Evaine walked back over to the table, eyes staring out through her mask and glinting with _something_ that more that roused Cass’s interest.

“What say we have a game.”

It was not entirely a question, and Cass tapped her nails across her jaw bone, humming for a long moment and closing her eyes before responding. “You mean to say we are not in the game already?”

It earned her favoring smile. “Fair. But what is reward without risk?”

Evaine reached into her bodice, pulling out a tiny paper envelope. She filled the spare chalice with a full glass of wine, and then poured out a white powder from the envelope into both goblets. It seemed to dissolve as soon as it hit the dark red liquid, quickly dissipating until there was no trace of the powdered substance left

Then she offered one of the glasses back. Cassiopeia brought it up to her lips, but then stopped.

When she paused those barest of seconds, Evaine’s hand suddenly pressed to the chalice, tilting it back and urging the liquid into Cass’s throat. It was swallow or choke on the wine, and Cass was hardly about to admit defeat.

She swallowed, tasting nothing but the complex flavors of the wine itself. No hint of whatever additive had been placed into the liquid.

“Don’t be so uncertain now.” To push the point, Evaine swallowed down the contents of her own chalice, tongue darting out to lick up any last droplets of while from her black lips. “You won’t be needing an antidote for this. It’s a time course chemical.”

Which still made Cass none the wiser as to what she had just ingested.

Evaine interrupted her thoughts, bending down to kiss her.

She tasted of the same drink, no hint of whatever else it truly was she had added, and Cass let their tongues swirl for a long moment as she internally monitored her own heart rate, her breathing, her senses. There was no noticeable change that would be expected from a poison.

Evaine chuckled against her, a throaty and amused sound, and Cassiopeia felt a small flame of irritation burn within her chest, drawing her attention back to the present. She pulled back, but Evaine was already standing upright, as if denying Cass even the thought of being the one to separate from the kiss first.

“Are you afraid?”

It was a taunt, a bait...and the way Evaine spoke it, the way her eyes glowed with a nearly unearthly light against the low tone of her voice…

Cass was dignified, she was trained. A Du Couteau did not rise to baits.

But she was hardly about to back down.

She moved quickly, standing and pressing her lips right back to Evaine’s before anymore could be said, kissing with every last shred of seductive skill she had mustered over the years until her head spun.

No...wait...the room around her was truly spinning.

Cass’s breath was loud against her own ears, her pulse seemingly normal still and yet louder than war drums.

She gripped at Evaine’s shoulders, trying to lead her toward the bed no different than she had led in the dance. Evaine let her...at first.

Then she spun around on Cassiopeia, vying for that control, fighting with kisses, with hands on waists, with hips pressed to hips. An iron grip jerked her wrists, and before she could slip free, Cassiopeia was well and truly caught, both wrists now trapped in the unforgiving chain loops that connected to the hook in the ceiling. Evaine pulled the chain taut until, Cass’s arms were pulled overhead, creating an ache in her shoulders at the harsh treatment.

How...how had Evaine managed to move so quickly? How had Cass been so outmaneuvered so quickly? They had both drunk the same thing.

“Come now, did you really think surrender would be given so easily?”

The ridicule made Cass bristle. She tried to struggle, but quickly gave up. She knew very well just how impossible it was to escape from her current predicament. She had these chains and hooks made precisely for that reason. So she settled with glaring all of her fury at Evaine, trying to ignore how her senses blurred in and out of focus, how the heat only grew beneath her skin as Evaine began to undo the clasps and ties on Cassiopeia’s dress.

The silk masterpiece fell down to her ankles in a whisper that seemed to boom to Cass’s ears, leaving Cassiopeia feeling naked in more ways that one as Evaine looked her very thoroughly over.

“Very nice. Just one last thing.”

Evaine laid her hands softly on either side of Cass’s temples. She tugged on the simple silk sash, and then just as smoothly pulled off the mask, laying it aside with a careful grace.

She made no moves to undo her own mask—or even her own dress—leaving Cassiopeia blinking and staring at golden eyes that glittered eerily from within a deceptive labyrinthe made of metal and feather and crystal.

“Much better.”

Then Evaine walked around back toward the dresser and cabinets, and Cass had to crane her head backwards to watch.

“I must admit,” began Evaine, sounding for all the world as though she were talking about the weather. “I’ve rather fallen out of the use of all of these props. A woman grows used to her own methods...but…”

Cass watched, still unimpressed, as Evaine carefully selected some unknown items from within the drawers. Some were placed onto the bed, and Evaine returned with two clamps connected by a thin golden chain in hand.

She _wasn’t_ expecting Evaine to quickly and almost crudely shove one hand between her legs, testing the all too clear evidence of desire there. A finger on either side of her clit, squeezing, making her hips push forward for more. And Evaine leaning in her lips just _barely_ over Cass’s, repaying the earlier favor from the ballroom floor.

Then Evaine withdrew her hand just as quickly, wiggling her glistening fingers, her gaze cool and yet burning.

“Just making sure you’re ready.”

Without further delay, she caressed one hardened nipple, flicking and pinching the tip before placing the velvet covered clamp over it. She tightened the clamp, screwing in small increments until Cassiopeia was squirming and the chains that kept her hooked to the ceiling were jingling in protest.

Evaine then began to repeat the process with the other clamp, obviously enjoying every last reaction she could goad out of Cass, limited though Cass tried to make them.

Once finished with the ordeal, Evaine stepped away to began the process of disrobing herself, sliding out of her own ornate dress costume with a remarkable ease. Yet she left her mask on, tapping her chin as she watched Cass, clearly thinking.

The silence stretched on, as if Evaine were waiting for something, though Cassiopeia was entirely uncertain for once of just _what_. Finally, she spoke, white teeth showing.

“Now, now…” she chided. “Don’t stifle yourself on my part. Or maybe do.”

Cass’s lips opened as Evaine brought her fingers to them. A thigh pressed between the junction of her legs and nails suddenly dug in sharply at her back at hip, forcing her to rock forward.

Her back arched, straining. Her wrists pulled hard against the restraints, and Cass shook.

“Nnghhh…” It was embarrassing, how her voice came out in a whimper, unable to even form full words, never mind that Evaine’s fingers were still in her mouth. Her mind and senses alike were reeling, even once Evaine decided to busy her hands elsewhere This compound...whatever it was...

She jerked her head back, trying gain control. She wouldn’t be bested. She refused it. Even with touch alighting across her body, as though her skin was hypersensitized. A mouth on her neck, a mouth on her back...

Wait. There were...two of them? No...her swerving vision couldn’t be right.

She closed her eyes, frowning. And yet thought, her greatest weapon of them all, stuttered and defocused. Hands. Hands tugging at the delicate chain between her breasts, alighting her nerves with pleasure and pain. Nails scraping down her back, digging into the curve of her ass, dipping to test and tease the wet heat between her legs, robbing her of coherency.

How were her hands everywhere at once? Had the effects of the drug altered her perception of time?

“You...cheated…” She slurred, and the touching all paused simultaneously. Her skin shivered and pimpled up, anticipating more. “Tolerance...it’s a poison you have tolerance to…”

Evaine laughed, and patted her cheek, and her smile was genuine as she praised Cassiopeia. Cass both hated it and and how she instinctively leaned into it. “Very smart of you figuring it out so quickly. And with so many distractions. You’re quite right, of course...but then, since when have either of us ever played fair? My mental faculties remain wonderfully unaffected. Though as I recall, exposure to this particular compound the first few times can be rather...delirious?”

Cass blinked again and tried to shake her head, which proved to be a terrible mistake for her sight. The worst of it only abated when Evaine’s hand gripped her chin firmly in place, grounding her. Those golden eyes practically glowed now, fully focused in on her.

Like a raven.

But no, she masked as a swan.

“Let’s try to make this a bit easier for us both, shall we?”

Evaine disappeared behind her, only to return with a long strip of black velvet: blindfolding cloth. She looped it easily over Cass’s face, drowning out the light and leaving her reliant purely on her now heightened sense of touch and hearing.

She could hear the echoing of heels as Evaine walked slowly around her.

“You’ve always played the game well, Cassiopeia.”

The words were interspersed by the sudden, almost curious touch of something like a rod drawing slowly drawing down the sensitized skin of her back, varying pressure and speed. A riding crop.

“Impressively well for someone so young, so generally cloistered in her blue-blooded life. You understand _people._ ”

The crop dipped down across her buttocks, moving between her thighs.

“You understand how they work, what drives them, what makes them tick.”

The tip of the crop flicked just the lightest bit against her clit, and she wasn’t fast enough in suppressing her intake of breath and the way her body shook from it.

“And that puts you in control.”

Evaine moved the crop up away from her sex, trailing up her ribcage. Cassiopeia could feel sweat bead up and then drip down her sternum as she forced herself to utter stillness. Even blindfolded, her senses still swirled.

“You understand how to manipulate everyone else around you perfectly. But you’ve never had that back. Not once. Someone who understands _you_. Who can appreciate all of your art, your skill, all of the fine, _fine_ control that goes into orchestrating everything.”

The riding crop paused to get conveniently tangled in the chain of the nipple clamps, even the lightest of tugs making Cassiopeia gasp uncontrollably.

“You know so well how to make people crumble, how to unravel them.”

There was a clatter as the crop was unceremoniously tossed aside. As cool fingers played against her overheated skin instead.

“And yet maybe...just _maybe_...something deep inside of you wonders. A part of you that wants to know more than anything else: what would it be like to truly lose to a worthy, equal foe...and relish in that fall?”

Cass gritted her teeth until her jaw ached, and spat out her answer to that. “And you think _you’re_ that person? That you know me so well?”

Evaine paused at this, and her fingers trailed down the side of Cass’s jaw until she cupped her cheek gently. Cass could feel a thumb run over the high curve of her cheekbone, could feel the warmth of Evaine’s breath and her lips hovered over Cass’s.

“Because, my dear, you and I are cut of the same proverbial cloth. I do know you, because I know myself. I _know_ how much an undeniable part of you wants this, and I know how you will resist every...single...step...of the way.”

Then her mouth covered Cass’s, demanding and unforgiving, practically inciting Cassiopeia to fight back for control. Only when she did, Evaine denied her even that, merely breaking away, leaving Cass with only the sounds of her own gasps as company.

Only for a second, though.

A hand knotted in her hair, pulling sharply until her neck ached for how much she was forced to arch back, and her muscles shook with the effort of holding.

Her fingers plucked at the chain between Cass’s breasts again, over the clamps, and Cass jerked at the bolt of pain that shot through her, even as the wet ache between her legs grew sharper. A hand cupped one of her breasts before nails dragged down to her hips, up her thighs, finally slipping to the wet heat between her legs.

Evaine’s fingers moved lazily, drawing dizzying tremors as she increased pressure and intensity.

“Come on, Cass…” Evaine’s voice was in her ear, like poisoned honey, urging her closer.

Out of sheer spite, Cass turned her head, focusing every last thought on pushing away her impending climax.

Evaine merely laughed though, her lips chasing Cassiopeia’s ear even as her fingers moved harder, making a mockery of her efforts.

“Don’t be like that now. Just a little bit more. Or didn’t you want it…?”

It felt like one body pressed against her back, one pressed against her front, both unrelenting, as hands ran over her. Hands continuing to torture at her breasts, nails scraping down her back, fingers lightly squeezing around her throat, fingers ever toying between her legs, finally pushing inside of her in a steady and knowing rhythm.

“How much more can you fight when you want to give in?” Teeth nipped at one earlobe. A tongue traced around the curve of the other. “And we both well know that you want to...”

She felt something in her crack, begin to unravel. It wasn’t about the sex. For a moment, it wasn’t even about the game anymore.

It was solely about the woman against her, and Cassiopeia felt herself falling...falling off the cliff edge and into the gaping maw of an abyss unlike anything else.

Something broke, and the word spilled out of her. Not the safeword. Something else. Something visceral and uncontrollable.

“ _Please_ …”

She swore that a pair of lips whispered into each ear.

“That’s what I thought.”

And then Cass came undone.

* * *

Someone was humming.

Evaine. Evaine was humming, and Cass half heard it and half felt it. She moaned lightly, not yet wanting to open her eyes, aware that the blindfold had been removed. There was a soft chuckle from above her—never devoid of the rich and smug amusement—but also surprisingly soft. A touch accompanied the laughter, an equally gentle thumb brushing across the curve of her cheek before moving to stroke her hair.

She felt languid. Satiated in a way she had never thought was achievable before now. Least of all in this manner. Oh she knew how to act the demure, subservient woman in bed, as much as she loathed it. It was a necessity more than what she liked, but when she was in the business of drawing out information rather than blood, it was an unfortunate reality.

But this...was this how her marks felt when she was the one making them bend and break? When they were on their knees begging for more?

“Mmm...still all here, Cassiopeia?” The question was finally asked as a hand smoothed her hair back.

Finally, Cass cracked open her eyes, meeting Evaine’s intent gaze. Her black swan mask was finally removed, leaving her just as naked as Cassiopeia, and clearly comfortable in her own skin.

Troubling...that she didn’t really remember being undone from the hook, being laid down into Evaine’s lap. Even more troubling that she was so unbothered by it.

 _Damn this woman._..

She pulled Evaine down into her, kissing her without any rush. Now was normally the time when, if she _had_ to stay around a mark, Cassiopeia would draw out their secrets and information from their unsuspecting tongues during their post-coital bliss. Yet here she was just kissing Evaine with little care beyond the press of lips against lips.

And since Evaine seemed for once willing to oblige rather than taunt, Cassiopeia greedily took what she could.

Curse her for winning, for making Cass truly enjoy falling, enjoy having lost. She despised it, yes, and yet she floated in the inexplicable pleasure of it, too.

Until she felt that damnable smirk grow against her mouth.

Only then did Cass pull back, pushing herself up so that she could face Evaine at equal height.

 “What?” she demanded.

Yet now that she pulled back, she was surprised to see that it was less of a smirk, and more of a genuine and pleased smile.

“Anyone can learn to throw a dagger, to slit a throat. But to cultivate the mind...that is a far, far more impossible task. Time and time again, you, my dear, have proven you are something far more precious and unique, the true gem of house Du Couteau, and so tragically underappreciated in Darkwill’s Noxus.”

“I…” For once words failed Cass, something sharp and that she had convinced herself long since dead rising in her sternum.

Evaine’s eyes were hard, entrancing, and so, so perfectly _knowing_.

“You know it. You’ve grown up in a world that sees no _real_ value in your skill and talent. You are surrounded by literal imbeciles. By a people who have been conditioned to acknowledge only brute strength, blunt force. They recognize how a sword may kill a man, but not how the subtlety of words and actions may utterly ruin him, may control him and break him.” As she spoke, Evaine traced one finger in random patterns, from Cass’s temple, down her jaw and throat, across her collarbone. “And so they look down on you for it. Oh, your father may have cultivated you...trained you to your apparent strengths. Yet you are always the lesser, and it is spoken of in shadows just as much as to your face. Inferior, cowardly, _weak_.”

Cassiopeia closed her eyes again, swallowing. Post-coital haze was dangerous for this reason, how once satiated, her emotions could run high, could run against the logic she had trained herself to.

“And what of it?” She tried to sound light, but knew as soon as the words left her lips how hollow they rang. “Such is Noxus. But it does not diminish the impact of my skills that I have chosen to hone.”

“Indeed, it does not at all.”

That simple agreement had Cass’s eyes shooting back open, incredulous. “You agree?”

Evaine raised her eyebrows calmly. “And why should I not? Without persons such as you, how does Noxus run? How has Noxus ever managed for so many centuries? The army is the face, the hand. But what is a sword in hand when the mind cannot command it?”

What she supposed to say? One perfectly manicured nail tapped at her temple lightly.

“You are capable of so, so much more, Cassiopeia. A mind such as yours emerges but once in a generation, more rare than even the greatest of swordsmen. Espionage and seduction are but a few of the many arts of deception and illusion, and but the ones that your father knows.”

“And?” prompted Cass, her lips suddenly and incredibly dry, anticipation thudding in her chest.

Evaine’s smile grew deeper. “And I can teach you far, far more. I know many who can teach you far more. Who seek to remove the gilded cage that entraps you even now. Who would see talents such as yours and mine returned to the forefront of aiding the Dark Empire. You wish for development, for challenge? You can become a musician who will play kings and nations as your instruments.”

 _Sorcery_. Cassiopeia knew it without saying. Knew with a sudden certainty now that her earlier perception of two bodies had been true to her senses. If she could learn magic...an art Boram Darkwill had all but beaten out of most of Noxus for fear of someone who could usurp his necromantic power…

And yet...yet her father served Boram steadfastly, no matter what his disagreements (and she knew as well as Katarina and Talon that Marcus Du Couteau did have his disagreements) with Darkwill’s aging and increasingly paranoid reign over Noxus.

Honing skills was one thing, but to tread into the forbidden arts that Evaine now offered to her...it was more than just that, and Cassiopeia became aware she was hanging on some precipice of something far more gaping and unknown.

But at what cost?

She chose to play her hand.

“Emilia...though you call yourself Evaine to me.”

Cass watched, mind and thoughts now safely swaddled again in a cloud of calm logic and reason. She watched the genuine surprise as she rightly called out LeBlanc’s name, felt the woman stiffen against her. It was the body’s betrayal of a true mark landed.

“Deceptions, masks...even a rose has thorns, does it not? Just how many thorns do I have yet to uncover beneath this rose?”

The unmistakable movement in Evaine’s throat of her swallowing, the way her cheeks paled and then reddened ever so slightly, how her arm muscles had tensed just the most immeasurably amount before relaxing again.

Even a master at the game could never fully control the body’s natural and instantaneous response...only contain it.

The silence stretched onward, Cassiopeia content to wait, to watch, to see just what Evaine would choose to say next.

She chose to act instead.

Evaine leaned down and kissed her again. It was long and tender, and clearly not intended as so crude a move as to merely silence her. No, when Evaine pulled back, her golden eyes practically sparkled, and her next words were a victory of a different sort for Cassiopeia, nevermind the loss she had conceded but minutes earlier.

“I must admit...I do believe I have underestimated you, Cassiopeia Du Couteau. And it is an odd but true pleasure to admit so.” Her eyes suddenly grew darker, pupils dilating visably. It sent a thrill tingling through Cass. “But enough with words.”

Evaine...Emilia...whatever LeBlanc’s true name was...dropped a hand between Cass’s legs, fingers immediately finding purchase at her sex and sliding easily back inside Cassiopeia as she let out a gasp.

A thumb moved against her clit, and Cass jerked into LeBlanc, half-startled by how eager her body’s response was for more already.

LeBlanc spoke once more, humming before her lips covered Cassiopeia’s. “You and I have far more pressing needs to attend to.”

* * *

Emilia LeBlanc sat in front of her desk. It was but one desk of many, one office of the many she owned, and but one of the many hideaways owned by the Black Rose that were littered across the city...safe havens from Darkwill that sat right in his very city. This was merely the desk and office she had chosen for this day.

Her attention for today, however, was focused wholly on the thin, elongated black case that lay on the desk before her, opened from the hinges to display its precious contents.

LeBlanc caressed the black velvet interior of the box, fingertips carefully skirting just shy of the edges of cold steel that were cradled by the rich fabric. The sword was well-oiled, shimmering and new, and the black-etched lines of the serpent that seemed to crawl up the length of the blade appeared nearly alive. It was not a motif that was common to lands so far north as the Freljord, but the fine craftsmanship of the longsword left little doubt in LeBlanc’s mind the the gift would be well-accepted and used.

For a brief moment, something almost like regret passed across her face, and she allowed the smallest of sighs to pass her lips.

A shame that this was how it would have to play out. Truly, she had never held high expectations for the end result. Just as she commanded unerring loyalty from her own, so too did Marcus Du Couteau breed the same from his family. Still...she did not take pleasure from what course of action was now necessary.

So much talent for naught. It would all be soon wasted. And that was perhaps the greatest tragedy of them all.

It had been a rare bit of excitement while their entanglement had still lasted, but she could not allow so deceptive a rising threat as Cassiopeia Du Couteau to remain left alone. Not if they were to build their new Noxus.

“I _am_ sorry, my dear,” murmured LeBlanc, and she was, in her own way. “But you’ve chosen your way, much as I have chosen mine. Now let us see what you choose to make of yourself when your gilded cage is forced open.”

She removed her hand from the velvet, closing the sword case carefully and latching it shut again, before tugging at a small tassel attached to the wall just behind her. There was but a moment’s pause, and then a polite knock on the heavy door to her office before it was opened and a manservant entered, bowing deeply.

“It is to your pleasure, Matron?”

She waved one hand, and he took the case from her desk. “It is. You know what needs to be done. Be sure it arrives in the Freljord within the month. The diplomats are due to visit in two, and we cannot suffer any delays on this. Do you understand?”

He bowed a second time. “It will be done. Do you need anything else, Matron?”

“No...wait.” Having changed her mind abruptly, Leblanc paused, reaching into one of the drawers of her desk until she found precisely what she was looking for.

It was a playing card, like those used games entertained by nobles at court or in High Command, except that it was perfectly white, no numbers or characters inked on it, but for in one corner: a small, black briar rose.

A calling card, of sorts. Or a last message.

“See that this reaches the hands of Cassiopeia Du Couteau, and _only_ her.”

The confusion across the manservant’s face was easily discernable, and LeBlanc could practically hear the questions bounce on the tip of his tongue. _‘Du Couteau?’_

To his credit, he chose not to question, dipping his head again as he pocketed the card. He was a loyal servant to the Black Rose, yes.

“As you wish, Matron.”

Then he turned and took his leave, closing the door to LeBlanc and her privacy again.

LeBlanc sat down again and turned to gaze out the window, her finger tracing absentmindedly over her lower lip, the smallest of secretive smiles tugging.

A true pity really. But then, unfortunately for Cassiopeia, there was always a loser when you dared to play the game.

**Author's Note:**

> Well...I've been wanting to post this for sometime. The idea of Cass/LB had been stewing in my head for nearly a year, and I absolutely loved the idea of two schemers going head to head, testing each other, trying to come out on top (ahem). However, I really wanted to do justice to it. I find both Cass and LB very difficult to write, and wanted to be sure I kept true to their characters (I hope I did!), which is part of the reason for the length of the piece. 
> 
> In other notes, in case you didn't know or infer from the last section in the piece, I'm writing this based on Cassiopeia's original lore, wherein she is cursed and turned into a snake when a visiting Freljord diplomat she is seducing makes her swear to secrecy on his enchanted sword. When she breaks secrecy and tells Marcus the diplomats secrets, she turns into a snake. So yup...there you go.
> 
> A massive thank you to the individuals who helped me edit this, and thank you for reading--I hope you enjoyed! As always, feedback, comments, or whatever are greatly appreciated!


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